Ryan Cole’s manager accepted Mark Anderson’s phone with a puzzled expression and opened the video.
The short clip appeared to have been recorded from a hotel hallway security camera, showing Ryan walking toward his room late the previous night with a woman beside him.
Their faces were clear enough that there was no possibility of mistaking who the man was.
The manager’s expression immediately changed.
Ryan had been watching him from the hospital bed, and the moment he saw the look on his manager’s face, he sat up.
“What is it?”
The manager didn’t answer.
He simply handed him the phone.
Ryan watched only a few seconds before his expression darkened.
“Mark, what the hell is this supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Mark remained perfectly calm.
“Someone sent the clip to me this morning. Apparently people at the hotel noticed you last night, and now at least one copy of this is already outside your control. Since you’re in the video, I thought you should know.”
“That’s bullshit.” Ryan glared at him.
“Paul was asking questions at the hotel. You got this yourselves.”
Mark pointed toward the phone.
“If you’re accusing me of something, you’d better have evidence.”
Ryan opened his mouth, then stopped.
Whatever its origin, the video existed.
That was the problem.
Ryan had carefully cultivated a clean, dependable public image because most of his work came from television, advertising campaigns, and supporting movie roles.
A video of him partying late into the night while a production waited for him might not destroy his career by itself, but combined with stories about his behavior on set, contract disputes, and missed call times, it could cause exactly the kind of publicity his representatives wanted to avoid.
The manager understood the situation much faster than Ryan did.
He returned the phone to Mark and asked calmly, “All right. What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything.”
Mark slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Paul lost his temper and hit Ryan. That was wrong, and I’m not pretending otherwise. I came here because I’m responsible for the production and because I wanted to apologize for what happened on my set.”
He pulled a plain envelope from his jacket and placed it beside Ryan.
“Consider this Paul’s apology.”
Mark didn’t wait for either man to respond.
“I’ve said what I came to say. Get some rest.”
Then he turned and left the room.
Ryan immediately snatched up the envelope.
He opened it.
Nothing.
Not even a dollar.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Ryan threw the empty envelope onto the bed.
“He came here to mock me?”
His manager picked it up and stared toward the closed door.
“No. He came here to tell us he knows this video exists, and he knows we have a much bigger public-relations mess developing than you seem to understand.”
Ryan frowned.
The manager sighed.
“He also very carefully said that somebody else already has the footage. Notice what he didn’t do? He didn’t threaten to publish it, demand money, or ask you to change your police statement. He’s making sure there’s nothing we can point to later and call blackmail.”
“So I’m just supposed to forget Paul punched me?”
“You don’t have a broken jaw, concussion, or even serious swelling.” His manager gave him an irritated look.
“The humiliation is worse than the injury, and half of that happened because you spent the night partying when you were supposed to be working.”
“I woke up late one time.”
“One time?” The manager’s voice rose.
“You demanded a separate luxury hotel, delayed transportation, showed up without knowing your lines, and then picked a fight with the director in front of the entire crew. I have been telling you for years that eventually this kind of behavior would cost you something.”
Ryan looked away angrily.
His manager stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“How am I supposed to keep working with them after this?” Ryan sat up straighter.
“Besides, I heard Daniel Brooks is putting together another feature. There’s a supporting role I might have a real shot at, and getting into one of his movies would do more for my career than spending weeks here making some cheap shark picture.”
Daniel Brooks was one of the most successful established directors working in this world’s American film industry.
His movies regularly received major financing, strong theatrical distribution, and awards attention, so Ryan wasn’t completely wrong that even a supporting role in one of his productions could offer valuable exposure.
His manager rubbed his forehead.
The timing was terrible, but after everything that had happened, forcing Ryan to remain on Mark’s set might create even more problems.
“Fine,” he said eventually.
“I’ll talk to Mark.”
Ryan immediately added, “And deal with the police situation too.”
“I can tell them you don’t want to pursue a private complaint and that you don’t intend to cooperate beyond what’s already been given.” The manager gave him a stern look.
“But understand something: you don’t personally control criminal charges. If the police or prosecutor decides the incident still needs action, that decision isn’t yours.”
Ryan waved impatiently.
“Just handle it.”
His manager collected his bag and left the room.
Outside the hospital, he walked through the parking area until he spotted Mark sitting inside the old white Geo Metro, looking at his phone.
The manager approached, knocked lightly on the passenger window, and forced a polite smile.
“Mark.”
Mark glanced over, unlocked the door, and nodded toward the passenger seat.
“Get in.”
The manager climbed inside.
Mark pulled away from the hospital and joined the road without immediately saying anything.
After several moments of uncomfortable silence, the manager finally spoke.
“Let’s stop dancing around this.”
Mark smiled slightly.
“I want that video kept private,” the manager continued.
“You said somebody sent it to you. Fine. I’m asking you not to distribute your copy or give it to entertainment media.”
“That’s easy.” Mark kept his eyes on the road.
“I have no interest in publishing anyone’s private life. Whatever was sent to me stays with me.”
The manager watched him carefully.
“As for everything else,” Mark added, “I don’t know what you think that video has to do with Paul’s situation.”
The manager’s eyelid twitched.
This kid was cautious.
Very cautious.
He had even started recording the conversation on his phone before getting into the car, expecting that Mark might say something reckless about trading the video for Ryan’s silence.
Instead, Mark had separated the two subjects completely and refused to connect them.
After several seconds, the manager finally gave up trying to trap him.
“Ryan intends to tell the police that he doesn’t want to keep pushing the complaint and that he doesn’t want this turned into a bigger case. Whether that ends everything is obviously up to the authorities.”
Mark nodded once.
That was legally far more realistic.
A private complainant’s wishes could matter, particularly in a relatively minor incident, but Ryan couldn’t simply order the police, prosecutor, or court to erase what had happened.
Massachusetts procedure ultimately left prosecution decisions with public authorities, not the alleged victim.
The manager continued, “Now we need to discuss Ryan’s contract. If you still want him to finish the movie, I’ll talk to him and make sure he behaves. If you don’t want him back, we should negotiate a clean termination.”
Mark considered it briefly.
After everything that had happened, he had no interest in bringing Ryan back.
The relationship between actor and director had already deteriorated beyond repair. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Even if Ryan suddenly became cooperative, Mark would spend the rest of production wondering when the next argument, delay, or demand would appear.
“How do you want to terminate it?” Mark asked.
“Mutual termination. You can use whatever footage you’ve already shot if it’s useful, and Ryan walks away from the rest of the production. But the $28,000 advance he already received isn’t being returned.”
Mark laughed.
Ryan had worked only a handful of days.
“You want to keep twenty-eight thousand dollars after delaying my production and quitting during principal photography?”
“That’s the agreement I’m offering.”
“Then I’m not interested.” Mark glanced briefly toward him before returning his attention to the road.
“If Ryan chooses to walk away unilaterally, I’m treating it as a breach under the contract. The damages provision is clear.”
The manager’s expression hardened.
“You’re seriously going to enforce the full penalty?”
“The contract allows damages up to roughly $280,000 under that clause.” Mark’s voice remained calm.
“I’m already working with a seven-hundred-thousand-dollar production budget. Recasting my lead after shooting starts costs money.”
“Impossible.”
The manager shook his head immediately.
“In that case, Ryan can come back tomorrow and continue playing Brody.”
Mark gave him an amused glance.
Then another thought occurred to him.
“You work on commission with Ryan, don’t you?”
The manager fell silent.
His expression answered the question.
Mark immediately understood.
Like many talent representatives, the man earned a percentage tied to Ryan’s income rather than simply receiving a fixed paycheck.
If Ryan lost his fee or had to pay substantial damages for breaching the agreement, the manager suffered financially as well.
That explained why he was fighting so hard over the advance.
Mark thought for several seconds before offering a compromise.
“All right. I don’t want to drag this out either. We calculate Ryan’s legitimate compensation for the days he actually worked, deduct the additional hotel, transportation, meals, and direct production expenses caused by his special arrangements, and return the unused portion of the advance.”
The manager looked at him carefully.
“In exchange,” Mark continued, “we sign a mutual termination. No additional contractual damages from either side, Ryan leaves the project, and we’re finished.”
The manager didn’t answer immediately.
The offer clearly hurt, but it was far better than gambling on a much larger breach-of-contract dispute.
Mark suddenly pulled back into the hospital parking area and stopped near the entrance.
“You can think about it. I have a movie to rebuild, and tomorrow morning I need to start finding a new Martin Brody.”
The manager opened the door slowly.
Mark looked toward him one final time.
“Send the paperwork through Silverline’s legal department. I’m not doing this with handshakes.”
The manager stepped out, and the little Geo Metro pulled away.
He stood watching Mark’s taillights disappear before releasing a long sigh.
What was there left to consider?
Ryan wanted out, Mark wanted him gone, and the proposed settlement was already considerably cheaper than fighting over the contract while production remained frozen.
A few minutes later, the manager returned upstairs and found the officer handling the follow-up to the incident.
“Officer,” he said, “Ryan wants to update his statement. He doesn’t want to pursue a private complaint against Paul, and he doesn’t intend to seek further action himself.”
The officer nodded.
Whether that ended the matter would be up to the authorities.
But as far as Ryan Cole was concerned, the fight was over.
(End of Chapter 8)
[Goal Tracker]